It's both a bit comforting and disquieting to think on how little things change, despite time and space.

To Have Taken the Trouble

I’m broke and practically homeless.
This fatal city, Antioch,
has devoured all my money:
this fatal city with its extravagant life.

But I’m young and in excellent health.
Prodigious master of things Greek,
I know Aristotle and Plato through and through,
poets, orators, or anyone else you could mention.
I have some idea about military matters
and friends among the senior mercenaries.
I also have a foot in the administrative world;
I spent six months in Alexandria last year:
I know (and this is useful) something about what goes on there—
the scheming of Kakergetis, his dirty deals, and the rest of it.

So I consider myself completely qualified
to serve this country,
my beloved fatherland, Syria.

Whatever job they give me,
I’ll try to be useful to the country. That’s my intention.
But if they frustrate me with their maneuvers—
we know them, those smart operators: no need to say more here—
if they frustrate me, it’s not my fault.

I’ll approach Zabinas first,
and if that idiot doesn’t appreciate me,
I’ll go to his rival, Grypos.
And if that imbecile doesn’t take me on,
I’ll go straight to Hyrkanos.

One of the three will want me anyway.

And my conscience is quiet
about my not caring which one I chose:
the three of them are equally bad for Syria.

But, a ruined man, it’s not my fault.
I’m only trying, poor devil, to make ends meet.
The almighty gods ought to have taken the trouble
to create a fourth, an honest man.
I would gladly have gone along with him.

-C. P. Cavafy

What to Make of Modern/Feminist Interpretations of Sappho?

Recent readings in History have caused me to wonder more about the point of view of the historians, semioticians, linguists, etc than of the times I'd been interested in. The remains of Sappho's body of work and how it had been interpreted by the whole Gertrude Stein crew at the turn of the 20th century kind of brought it into sharp focus, as these translations are viewed somewhat as "bible."

Still, these bits are really tempting, just like the crusts of a sandwich offered to a pigeon or duck in a park:

To Aphrodite (Fr. 1. G) 1

Aphrodite on your intricate throne, immortal, daughter of Zeus, weaver of plots, I beg you, do not tame me with pain or my heart with anguish

but come here, as once before when I asked you, you heard my words from afar and listened, and left your father's golden house and came

you yoked your chariot, and lovely swift sparrows brought you, fast whirling over the dark earth from heaven through the midst of the bright air

and soon they arrived. And you, o blessed goddess, smiled with your immortal face and asked what was wrong with me, and why did I call now,

and what did I most want in my maddened heart to have for myself. "Whom now am I to persuade to your love, who, Sappho, has done you wrong? For if she flees, soon she'll pursue you, and if she won't take gifts, soon she'll give them, and if she won't love, soon she will love you, even if she doesn't want to.

When I Look at You (Fr. 31. G) 2

The man seems to me strong as a god, the man who sits across from you and listens to your sweet talk nearby

and your lovely laughter - which, when I hear it, strikes fear in the heart of my breast. For whenever I glance at you, it seems that I can say nothing at all

but my tongue is broken in silence, and that instant a light fire rushes beneath my skin, I can no longer see anything in my eyes and my ears are thundering,

and cold sweat pours down me, and shuddering grasps me all over, and I am greener than grass, and I seem to myself to be little short of death

But it is endurable, since even a poor man...

Anactoria (Fr. 16. G) 3

Some would say an army of cavalry, others of infantry, others of ships, is the fairest thing on the dark earth, but I say it's whatever you're in love with

It's completely easy to make this clear to everyone, for Helen, who far surpassed other people in beauty, left behind the most aristocratic

of husbands and went to Troy. She sailed away, and did not remember at all her daughter or her beloved parents, but [Aphrodite] took her aside

(...) which makes me remember Anactoria who is no longer near,

her lovely step and the brilliant glancing of her face I would rather see than the Lydians' chariots or their infantry fighting in all their armo(u)r.

Just tesserae, fragments of what we have left of her poetry. Makes me think of a young one feeling love for the first time. Beautiful, Fresh, Spring-like. A Romantic Ideal, but perhaps not so sustainable in Real Life. How much of it is hers, and how much of it is wishful thinking on the part of the interpreters?

***

1. Sources of The Making of the West, V. 1; Katherine J. Lualdi. Bedford/St. Martins, Boston. Pp. 15-19.

2. Ibid.

3. Ibid.

Instead of worrying about impending deadlines, have been spending way too much time among the Romans lately, revisiting Aeneas's exploits, and other events leading to the founding of the city which so influenced what we are today.

Have really been getting into reading history lately as, not only can you move about location-wise, you can jump from age to age. Talk about great escapes.

There is no frigate like a book

There is no Frigate like a Book
To take us Lands away,
Nor any Coursers like a Page
Of prancing Poetry –
This Traverse may the poorest take
Without oppress of Toll –
How frugal is the Chariot
That bears a Human soul.

-Emily Dickinson